


A Nameday Favor

by flutterjet



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterjet/pseuds/flutterjet
Summary: It is Sid’s fifteenth nameday, and he hasn’t told anyone - he doesn’t want Fray to make fun of him for even knowing the date of his birth, as he has pointed out with a sneer in the past. (implied future Fray/Sid)





	A Nameday Favor

Darkness is descending by the time they make it back to the Forgotten Knight. Armed with the paltry excuse of supplying some potions, the Warrior of Light insists on escorting Sidurgu and Rielle to the inn and lingers, feeling guilty about the results of their training. This time, Sidurgu is the one who looks worse for wear.

To his credit, Sid is clearly proud of the Warrior’s steady improvement. But there’s also a hint of embarrassment plain as day, because his pupil has caught up to him faster than either of them expected.

After they secure a room, Sidurgu makes sure to sullenly repeat the details of the new technique one more time while Rielle helps him remove his armor. Perhaps it’s to appease his bruised ego, because the Warrior of Light has grasped that new skill quite well - it has landed Sidurgu on his arse, after all. 

The chainmail is removed piece by piece, revealing a deep red bruise between his neck and shoulder that would have been a bloody gash, if the mail hadn’t absorbed the brunt of it. 

Sidurgu’s pale body is covered in a smattering of scars and black scales in equal number, but the Warrior’s gaze is drawn to his neck - something shiny there. 

A silver chain, and a ring dangling from it. 

  
A cheap thing, made of tin and scuffed by age. There probably used to be a stone on it, but it’s long gone.

  
“What do you have there?” the Warrior can’t help but ask, head tilted curiously, “a favor?” 

  
Sidurgu hiccups and catches the ring in his fist reflexively, as if to conceal it - or protect it. “It’s nothing. It’s dumb.”

He opens his palm and looks at the tiny thing, unblinking, for a long moment. Rielle offers a furtive smile, and goes about healing his wounds without comment.

* * *

  
  
  


It is Sid’s fifteenth nameday, and he hasn’t told anyone - he doesn’t want Fray to make fun of him for even  _ knowing _ the date of his birth, as he has pointed out with a sneer in the past.   
  
He decides that he would just go about their usual training, and then hide away to sneak one of the pumpkin muffins he has secretly saved from last time Ompagne took them to the market.

It’s a bit stale, but still good and - most importantly - secret. His mother used to make traditional pumpkin sweets around this time of year, and even though Sid remembers the taste less and less with each passing year, the smell of baked pastry and pumpkin makes him feel languorously sad, and timidly happy. 

Fray wouldn’t understand - and besides, he ate his muffin immediately after Ompagne gave it to him. He doesn’t know how to savor food, Fray. It’s like all food is the same to him - he just makes it disappear with not so much as a thank you.    
  
After training, Sid absconds to his favorite place - the laundry room of the inn, which smells nice and is rarely used in the evenings.    
  
He’s almost done eating the pumpkin muffin when someone knocks him on the head, making him choke on the crumbs.   
  
“What do you have there?”    
  
Of course, Fray has to sneak up on people. He can’t announce himself like a normal person. His steps hardly make a sound, Sid thinks with some passing jealousy. He’s been getting bigger, while Fray seems stuck at the usual height - however, the nimbleness that comes with his small size serves him well in combat, while Sid struggles to get a handle on his gangly limbs. 

They’re 10 to 56 in spars - in Fray’s favor - and it really hurts Sid’s pride, but... Fray has a way of picking him up from the dirt after he’s landed him in it. And he grabs the ointment for his budding scales while Sid dusts himself off. He doesn’t even need to be asked before lending a hand applying it. He’s not so bad.

Sid offers him the last morsel of muffin in the spur of the moment. “Just eating this to celebrate, uh, surviving another day of training,” he tries to joke, feeling a bit exposed by the half-truth.    
  
Fray scrunches his nose but doesn’t comment. As smoothly as anything else he does, he leans in and snags it from Sid’s fingers with his mouth, eating it without ceremony. He really doesn’t appreciate it, Sid starts to think again, but Fray has a fraction of a smile on his lips and he loses his train of thought.    
  
“I know it’s your nameday,” Fray says suddenly, straight to the point. “I’m not stupid.”    
  
“...how?” The au ra’s jaw hangs open just enough for Fray to notice, and his little smile turns into a slick grin.    
  
“You asked Ser Ompagne what time we would be done with training about four times. You asked me what people get for their namedays in Ishgard not two weeks ago. You have been hiding that pumpkin treat for days - and you never save your food if you can have it now. You eat like an ox.”   
  
He flicks some stray bangs out of his eyes, apparently bored with so much talking. His hair has been getting lighter in the sun in the late summer, like the fragrant straw one would feed to the best cattle.    
  
“Oh,” Sid mumbles, realizing Fray was side-eyeing him somewhat expectantly. “Yes, you are right.” As usual. “Doesn’t matter anyway, got nothing to celebrate with, huh.”   
  
“I looked it up,” says Fray, picking up the thread of a week old conversation effortlessly. “Ishgardian nameday gifts,” he explains, when Sid doesn’t immediately pick up his meaning.    
  
“In most High Houses, fifteen is the age they promise their sons and daughters to each other. They have sons buy a ring for the girl they like, to wear on her person if she decides to accept the arrangement or some such.”   
  
“Such bull,” Sid grunts, if just because he doesn’t see how talking about the blue bloods is related to his secret nameday muffin time and how Fray is ruining the moment.    
  
“Yeah,” Fray agrees, but a little less snidely than he usually does. He seems to be fixated on the clean laundry hanging around them, not looking at Sid. Probably to make him mad.    
  
The hyur is sitting on top of a crate, so he’s actually taller than Sid at the moment - his hand descends to put something on Sid’s horn, carefully balanced on the tip. Sid reaches up, irritated. Fray knows his horns are sensitive, but it doesn’t stop him from poking or tickling them whenever it strikes his fancy.    
  
The foreign object Sid finds when he closes his hand around his horn is small and cold, and he brings it up to his eyes to squint in the light of the lanterns.    
  
“A ring?”   
  
It’s a cheap thing, made of tin and decorated with a colorful piece of light blue glass.   
  
“Did you steal this? Ser Ompagne told you to stop nicking things, you’re gonna get in trouble-,” Sid recites, focusing on the easiest of his confused thoughts at the moment.    
  
“I didn’t steal it,” Fray says, and he almost sounds hurt for a second. “I traded for it.”    
  
“Oh. Sorry.” Sid has the decency to look apologetic for the assumption, but really - there is plenty of precedent for it. “But... why?”    
  
Fray finally turns to look at him, and his golden eyes are just a hint of coals in the dim lantern light. He’s quiet for a long second, and Sid expects him to say something hurtful.    
  
“You turned fifteen, didn’t you?” is what he says, matter of factly.   
  
“Uh,” Sid replies, feeling like he can’t keep up with the conversation. “But I’m not a girl-“   
  
“And I’m not a noble,” Fray deadpans. He leans in and Sid thinks he’ll steal some more of his food, but the pastry is long gone and Fray puts his lips on the corner of Sid’s mouth, instead.    
  


Sid inhales, surprised. The smell of clean laundry mingles with their dust-caked sweat and the lingering taste of pumpkin.

  
He blinks, and then Fray’s gone. He waves at Sid without turning back, already halfway out of the laundry room. “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want it. It’s dumb.”    
  
Sid looks down at the small ring, at the clear glass stone that is, he realizes, the same color of his eyes. He feels his face burn, like a scalding hot iron touched his skin where Fray’s lips were.    
  
“It’s dumb,” he echoes, entranced.

He keeps the ring. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @goodnyte for betaing! And for inspiring. And for dragging me into FraySid so very swiftly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Returning a Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197576) by [goodnyte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnyte/pseuds/goodnyte)




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